


"How do you passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

by mariewritesfluff



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, f-bombs are dropped unashamedly, flower shop au, i mean if you squint there's lams but not really, like it could be interpreted as flirting, no relationships - Freeform, shameless song reference at the end, this was inspired by brooklyn flowers and a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariewritesfluff/pseuds/mariewritesfluff
Summary: John Laurens is a florist. This has major perks, the one standing out being that you don’t really get many angry customers. Today would prove to break that mold. John Laurens, however, is currently unaware of this.





	"How do you passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Brooklyn Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695501) by [halo_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo_dean/pseuds/halo_dean). 



> HI! So I saw the prompt "Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?” (via user demisexualmerill) on tumblr, and, having read Brooklyn Flowers, I thought that our little John would be perfect to write this for. Enjoy!

John Laurens is a florist. This has major perks, the one standing out being that you don’t really get many angry customers. Today would prove to break that mold. John Laurens, however, is currently unaware of this. So far, it was a normal day. He had woken up to his alarm blaring whatever overplayed song was popular these days, thrown on some jeans and a t-shirt, and grabbed the keys to the shop as he sprinted out the door. Gotten on the subway in pitch darkness unlocked the shop, and now he’s here. Sun barely peeking out over the horizon, 80’s music blasting from his outdated speaker while he sweeps the doorstep, waving at the owner of the bookstore next door as she places a chalkboard in the window reading “20% off ENTIRE STORE today!”. He walks inside, bypassing the counter and going to the backroom, the next task being the unpacking and organizing of today’s flower delivery. Roses in the left corner, red, pink, white, salmon. Peonies and tulips to the right. Grasses and fillers next to the tulips, and dahlias next to those. His mental monologue is interrupted by his coworker Peggy stepping into the room.

“Hey John! she sings brightly.

“Hello, Peggy.” he sighs. “It is six forty five in the morning and a humble night owl such as myself absolutely cannot understand why you are so cheery.”

“And that is why I brought you a latte.”

“God, Peggy, you’re a lifesaver.” He scrambles to the doorway to accept the coffee, tries to take a gulp, then nearly drops it as the liquid scalds his tongue on contact. Peggy laughs.

“I literally just bought that, do you not know that coffee is served hot?” she giggles.

“Apparently I don’t.” comes the reply. Now drinking his latte in tiny sips, he looks mildly irked.

“Ha. I don’t blame you, it’s like Starbucks expects us all to have heat resistant mouths. Anything significant happening today?”

“Mr. Washington is picking up a dozen roses for his wife, it’s their anniversary today, George King is probably going to come in asking what’s the best way to make up with his girlfriend in bouquet again, and, because it’s prom season, we have assorted teenagers that want corsages.”

“I call the corsage orders. Do we know what they want?”

“Um...let me check.” Pulling up his email inbox on his phone, he recites “One wants something centered around a dahlia, a few are letting us take the wheel and design whatever we want, and one’s bringing in her dress so that we can match it.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of the dahlia one. Anything else?”

“If you could handle the one bringing in her dress, that would be great. She’s coming in at nine.”

“On it!” she calls over her shoulder as she walked over to the dahlias.

Sipping his latte, which is now at a reasonable temperature, John steps out of the workroom and into the front of the shop. They open at seven thirty, and he needs to have prepared bouquets for display ready. Most of yesterday’s arrangements look good enough to keep for today, but the ones that are wilting or dried up, he composts. He decides that the shop looks presentable, and goes to the back to get Washington’s roses.

Roses...are in the left corner. Okay, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… he counts in his head, picking individual roses out of their container. He finishes counting out twelve roses, and carries them to his work counter. Roses in the center, arranged upwards like so...Baby’s breath around the edges...and tie tightly. He secures the bouquet with a metallic, wired red ribbon, and ties a simple bow. By the time he finishes the arrangement, it is seven thirty. Time to open the doors.

 

The day is waning, and John is just about to close up shop when a man, black hair whipping in his face, jacket wrinkled and disorderly, storms into the shop. He slaps twenty bucks on the counter, and hisses in a hoarse voice “How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

“Um...what?” John inquires, having to hold back a snicker. The situation is just so ridiculous.

“He’s just being an ass and I hate him and-”. The man cuts off his own words with a frustrated groan. “Can I just get the ‘fuck you’ bouquet already?”

“Okay, um...PEGGY!!” John yells into the back.

She pokes her head around the corner. “Yes?”

“Can you get this nice man a bouquet of um...geraniums, foxglove, yellow carnations, they have to be yellow, orange lilies and...shit, what else...meadowsweet?”

“Isn’t that basically saying ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

“Yeah, that’s what he’s looking for.”

“Okay.” She disappears into the back, giggling.

“Love you!!” John calls. Turning his attention back to the black-haired man, he finds that he has begun inspecting the bouquets on display.

“If I may, sir, who is this ‘fuck you’ bouquet for?” he dares to ask.

The man jumps. He had evidently expected no further conversation. “Some horrible kid at school.”

“What makes him so bad?”

“This is going to take a while.”

“Okay, now I have to know. Dish.”

“He goes to my college - we’re in the same Political Science class, but he has the worst opinions. Like he’s actually on the alt-right’s side. He thinks that feminists are man-hating bra-burning women who have shunned society and gone to live in the woods where they are free from the patriarchy or some shit. White supremacist. He’s also homophobic, transphobic, and hates marriage equality and transgender bathroom rights. Also the BLM movement.”

“You are correct. This man does indeed deserve a ‘fuck you’ bouquet.”

At that moment, Peggy emerges with the bouquet. She hands it to the man and rings him up at the register.

“That’ll be $13.46, please.” , she lilts, holding out her hand for the payment. The man gestures at the counter with his free hand.

She takes the twenty, calculates and gives him his change in point oh two seconds. The man pivots on his heel to walk out of the shop.

John hesitates before calling to his back “What’s your name, man?”  
Without turning around, the man raises his arms to the sky, ‘fuck you’ bouquet in his left hand, and says “Alexander Hamilton.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOW!!! I actually posted today! I'm keeping up with a deadline! *does happy dance* I experimented with writing fully in present tense for this, let me know if there are tense inconsistencies and if you liked it. Comments and kudos are amazing, and always appreciated.
> 
> *In case you're curious, the meanings of the flowers in the 'fuck you' bouquet are:  
> geraniums: stupidity  
> foxglove: insincerity  
> yellow carnations: you have disappointed me  
> orange lilies: hatred  
> meadowsweet: uselessness
> 
> *tumblr user koscheiis provided the list of 'fuck you' flowers and their meanings
> 
> love, marie


End file.
